Death of a Dynasty
by Pure-Pen
Summary: After the JV-Varsity Showdown, we know that one team celebrated a victory... but how did the other team react? (One-Shot)


**Title:** The Death of a Dynasty  
**Author:** Katie 1  
**Description:** After the JV/Varsity showdown JV celebrated, but what did the Varsity hockey team do?  
**Dedication:** To everyone at the good ol' RP. Love you all!

_**AN:** I haven't written in a while, so I'm not expecting this to be the best ever, but I'm trying to get back into the groove. Don't hurt me. I'm attempting._

Disclaimer: I don't own the Ducks. I wish I did. But I don't. Sorry.

* * *

"What the _hell_ did you think you were doing!"

I looked up tiredly from untying my skates to my Captain, my roommate, my best friend. I've known him since practically preschool and I've never in my life seen him so angry at someone within our tight knit group. His normal sharp crystalline eyes have turned to liquid fire orbs on a sweat soaked face. Even through his own physical and mental fatigue I can see his rage bubbling just beneath the surface, just with a glance.

"First you lost the goddamned game against a bunch of no good, trailer trash, charity case Duck hockey team, then you go and kiss one of them in front of your team, the school, our parents, the alumni!"

He knows that I'm too tired to deal with him. That's the problem with him and I. We know each other _far_ too well. We both know what wears on each other's nerves. For example, he knows that in my whole life I've only hit one person in my life. Hell, that's how we became friends. Him, talking my stupid spaceship in the sandbox, Cole hauling us apart, as he was a pretty damned big kid even in elementary school, and ending up in front of the principal's office, me with a black eye and him with a split lip.

Even with a swollen lip and icepack pressed to it, he was charismatic and charming and through this barely audible mumblings, he could convince anyone to do anything, which is exactly what he did with me, striking a deal as we waited for the principal.

"I hope you're fucking happy goalie! You ruined this year for all of us! We're a fucking _joke_!"

Before I knew it I was on my feet. He had pushed me far enough and I wasn't willing to take anymore of this bullshit he was shoveling out at me. We both knew this was exactly what he was waiting for.

"I'd like to see you do a job where if you fuck up, a red light goes on and a crowd boos!" I hadn't even realized I was speaking until I stopped.

His face before me twisted, morphing into something in all the years I had known him, I had never witnessed before. I didn't recognize my best friend. This was someone I didn't like. This wasn't the Rick Riley I knew.

"I'd like to see you do a job where you take responsibility for everyone else's fuck ups! Oh wait! You can't because you're a _good for nothing_ goalie!"

We were almost nose to nose, as the rest of the team stood back in a silent tension filled daze. Even Cole… even he of all people, stood back, knowing there was no point in attempting to stop the train wreck that was enviably going to happen between him and I.

I knew I was going to go for the low blow, and I could stop myself.

"You're just fucking terrified that someone is going to see that perfect façade that you put on for everyone to see!"

In fraction of a second, I felt his treasured class ring graze the bridge of my nose, catching at the skin with the elaborate designs and reflecting off my cheek with a strong punch. I couldn't tell what hurt more, the blow itself or the knowledge of that this… our entire friendship, spanning for over a decade, will be completely irreparable after these moments.

With all the momentum behind his strike, combined with the fatigue of my aching muscles, I landed on my all fours, my remaining pads I had yet to remove weighing down upon my shoulders like a ton of bricks, knocking the wind from my lungs. I stared down at my damp hands holding me up on the cold locker room floor, and turned my eyes to look at him.

"You worthless piece of shit." He spat down at me, his eyes putting me in my place, below him. He sneered and looked around the locker room at the speechless team, warning the rest of them, using me as a silent example. He turned away from the group with the haunting thump of his sharp blades towards the door and out into the hall to cool off before changing. The sound echoed through my skull, piercing.

As the heavy wooden door slammed closed, I felt the hands of my closest teammates taking me by my elbows, hauling me over to the bench. I shook off the haze that covered my eyes like a blindfold and glanced around at my friends.

I watched as Dylan Perry and Zach Thomas shook their heads, and their shoulders drooped as they retreated into a separate corner as they changed into their street clothes, they already slipped away. Cole looked at me with eyes that were too wise to be his own. I could see that he was going to slip away to Rick, I already knew it.

One by one, each of my teammates changed and left, some in small groups, others all by themselves.

I sat their and watched as the team fell apart in front of my eyes like shards of a broken mirror; it was far too dangerous to attempt to fix and attempt to put us back together. It was safer for all those involved to sweep up the pieces and just remember what it was while it was here.

It was deathly quiet as the last of the team filed out, leaving the shattered remains of the Warriors in their wake. I knew, essentially our team would still be there tomorrow. We would still play, I would still have my spot between the pipes, but we all knew this was the end. We were no more.

_This was the death of a dynasty._


End file.
